


got the music in you baby tell me why

by zenstrike



Series: you’re lucky that’s what i like [4]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Again, Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Romance, Developing Relationship, Emotional, Established Relationship, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, POV Lance (Voltron), idk what to tag this really, klance roommates, once again, self-indulgent romantic garbage, ugh i am who i am okay, we return to:
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 17:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15611343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenstrike/pseuds/zenstrike
Summary: A study in intimacy.or, Keith and Lance consider commitment.





	got the music in you baby tell me why

**Author's Note:**

> i grappled with this for a while because, well, none of you want me to write sexual content just trust me and well, i wanted it to do what i wanted it to do.
> 
> so. i try to keep things vague but clear if you know what i mean. thoughts would be greatly appreciated.
> 
> to skip the, uh, sex stuff ctrl + f to [ “You okay?” ].
> 
> yikes there’s a lot i’m proud of here but i’m also uncertain hm

* * *

 

He could hear laughter on the other side of the wall: their neighbours were never quiet, maybe in retaliation for the weeks Keith and Lance had spent yelling at each other. They sounded far away, or like Lance was hearing them under water: a muffled curse, more laughter, and then if he focused he could hear them talking quietly to one another. Could they hear them, now? Could they hear their breaths, or the shifting of the curtains as the spring wind fluttered through the window?

    “Lance,” Keith breathed. And then, like he knew Lance was drifting: “It’s okay. It’s just us.”

    The wind rustled the curtains and, far away, Lance could hear clapping and laughter and someone using the dilapidated basketball court in the courtyard. He swallowed.

    “Just us,” he echoed, and Keith smiled.

    “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve got you.”

    He did, Lance thought half-deliriously. He felt like he was vibrating, like any second he was going to shake Keith right off of him. “Okay,” he said, or gasped. He swallowed again. “Keep going.”

    Keith watched him, something that Lance didn’t recognize playing at the edges of his smile. “Yeah?”

    “Yeah.”

    Lance felt it all the way up his spine, tingling at the base of his skull. His sheets dragged against his back. Keith buried a groan against his neck and Lance pressed his face into his hair, trying to hide his own gasps and breathy moans that didn’t always sound like him. Keith whispered his name and Lance dragged his fingers through his hair, against the back of his neck.

    It wasn’t their first time but it was their first time without laughter or confusion or, at least for Lance, embarrassment. It—this—was always good, in the end, but now was— There was still the too-close sound of their skin sliding together and the feeling of being just full enough to overflow, but it was—right, now.

    He came with a gasp, hearing Keith whisper his name again and again. He could feel the curve of his back and the bunching of the sheets under his shoulder blades. Every nerve was alive, and he suddenly wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh or cry. He pressed a wet kiss to Keith’s temple and tangled a hand in his hair.

    His muscles were burning and Keith’s fingers digging into his thighs, and Lance smiled. Lance clung onto him until he was sure he was going to break in half, peppering kisses and endearments on every bit of Keith he could reach.

    The roar of his heart died in his ears, slowly, and he heard their breathing—out of sync and ragged—like it was screaming, filling their little room. Someone was shouting outside, now, and someone next door was laughing again. Lance had a split second where he was sure that someone was going to barge through their door, and then he sagged against his bed, the tensions in his muscles finally uncoiling.

    Keith pulled out and away, looking down at Lance with a flushed, unreadable expression. Something heavy twisted in Lance’s stomach.

    “You okay?” he asked, still whispering.

    Lance nodded. His fingers twisted into the sheets. “Great,” he replied, just as quiet.

    Keith’s smile returned, and then twitched away. He kissed Lance, soft and quick. “I’ll be right back.”

    Lance nodded again and didn’t watch Keith stumble from the bed or into his clothes. “Come back quick,” he said to the ceiling.

    “Okay.”

    He heard the door click open and then shut, lightning quick to keep the secret. Lance’s fingers twitched. He was cooling, slowly, and he grimaced as he shifted: he was sticky and uncomfortably _squishy_ , but this was kind of alright.  He listened to his own breath, slowing steadily. The heavy thing in his belly squirmed. Lance ran a hand over his own neck, just to feel that he was still alive and still present. Their room smelt like sweat, and something that Lance was starting to recognize as _sex_ , and his bed sheets smelt like Keith—his sweat, his boring shampoo, paper—or maybe that was Keith all over Lance’s skin.

    His hand fell back to the bed. He squirmed, then propped up on his elbows to look down at the mess of his body just as Keith returned.

    It was hard to look at him but also hard not to. Heat spread over Lance’s skin again and he tried not to feel exposed, or seen, but Keith was smiling as he came back to the bed, looking tousled and messy and like he’d been chewing his lips (but Lance had done that). Lance reached out to take the cloth from him but Keith batted his hands away with a grunt.

    “I can do it,” Lance said and flushed when it came out like a whine.

    “So can I,” Keith grumbled back and there was something so endearing about it that Lance froze. He was slow and careful, his mouth set into a determined line, and Lance was mesmerized. His heart pounded.

    “I need a shower,” Lance said absently as Keith tossed the cloth into his laundry hamper.

    Keith hummed and Lance took that as agreement.

    “Not yet, though,” he continued. He started to sag back against the bed with a sigh, but Keith caught him around his shoulders, pulling him upright. His hands slipped to Lance’s waist and he kissed Lance’s responding frown.

    “Let’s go to my bed,” Keith said, or mumbled, and Lance nodded. He helped Lance up, his hands still on Lance’s waist, and Lance allowed himself a moment of bizarre humility as he stood on his jelly legs, leaning his naked body heavily against his fully-clothed boyfriend.

    Another kiss. “I love you.”

    Lance smiled. He wanted to say something cheeky, but the heavy thing in his belly and the smell of Keith and Keith on his own skin made thinking up witty banter difficult. Maybe even silly. “Love you too,” he said instead and Keith kissed him again.

    They crumpled into Keith’s bed together, Keith tossing the blanket over them both. It was natural to curl into him, and sigh against him, and take a deep breath just to store the smell of him away. Keith held him tight, pressing more small kisses to his face, until Lance was melting sleepily away.

    “Just for a bit,” he muttered. He tugged at Keith’s shirt. “You could at least take this off.”

    “I guess,” Keith said without moving.

    As he drifted off, Lance remembered his step-mother telling him that _intimacy is safety with another person_ , and he remembered not understanding.

    “I love you,” Keith was saying, like he was tracing the words against Lance’s skin. “Lance, I love you.”

    Lance knew.

 

***

 

    He woke up briefly when Keith pulled away, all but rolling out of the too-small bed. Lance grunted, groggy, and felt Keith brush a hand through his hair.

    “Be right back,” he said, and Lance fell back asleep.

    When he woke up again, there was an ache in his back and neck that had him squirming against Keith. Keith’s arm tightened around him and Lance opened his eyes slowly. Keith had opened the curtains and orange, late-afternoon light was stretching over the ceiling. Lance had a moment of disoriented panic—where had the day gone; he had had plans, he had _exams_ to study for—and then the thing in his stomach woke again and clawed at his insides.

    Keith was awake, holding up a novel while his other hand traced affectionate patterns against Lance’s back.

    Lance squirmed again.

    “I feel gross,” he mumbled against Keith’s shirt.

    “Do you want to keep sleeping?” Keith asked, and he was still speaking softly enough to make Lance’s heart ache.

    “Yes,” he replied honestly, but rolled away anyways. He flinched as he stood and stretched his arms over his head. When he looked back, Keith was watching him with that strange expression on his face again, his book resting against his chest.

    Dread, Lance realized; the thing in his stomach was dread.

    “I’ll be back in a bit,” he said as he turned away. He pulled on his sweat pants and a t-shirt that he was pretty sure had been Keith’s (or maybe Hunk’s) at some point.

    “Okay,” Keith said eventually.

    Lance gathered up his shower things in a hurry, determinedly not looking at his bed, stripped of its sheets.

    He dodged one of the Ryans (“What the fuck is Calculus, huh?” “No idea, buddy.”) and took his time in the shower to collect his breath and test what made him flinch and what just made him—dazed. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen, and the dread monster in his stomach contributed by throwing a fit every time Lance thought of that weird expression on Keith’s face or even the way Lance himself had gripped onto Keith like he was drowning.

    Not very cool. He flushed and washed his hair twice.

    When he returned to their room, Keith looked up from his book again, a pack of post-it notes stuck between his teeth and a highlighter poised over the page. He let the post-it notes drop.

    “I know,” Lance drawled. “I’m stunning, when I’m clean.”

    Keith blinked. He brushed the post-its from his open book. “And when you’re not,” he said without shame.

    “Oh,” Lance said, deflating a bit. “Thanks.” He shuffled away from the door and ignored the small huff of laughter from Keith.

    There was a buzz from Keith’s phone. Keith shoved himself off his bed. “I’m doing laundry,” he said as he stood.

    Lance eyed his own bare bed. “I guessed.”

    When he turned around, Keith was already there with a hand at Lance’s waist—like a steadying touch, like when Lance drank too much back in March and Keith helped keep him upright; or after they rode a rollercoaster with Hunk and Lance had been sure he’d be sick; or when they tried to go and get something to eat too soon after stars had burst behind Lance’s eyes and all he could hear, still, was Keith moaning in his ear.

    Lance blinked back to the present.

    “Want to come with me?” Keith said.

    Lance brushed a stray hair from Keith’s forehead, touched the corner of his mouth. He found that he did, indeed, want to go with Keith and that somehow soothed the monster of dread in his stomach. He nodded.

    Keith leaned into his touch, and smiled.

    They had decided early on to be discrete and Lance couldn’t remember a time they had ever gone somewhere on the floor, or anywhere in res really, consciously, actively holding hands. It was hard to let go, this time. Keith took his hand from the moment they left the door and didn’t let go, twisting their fingers and brushing his thumb over Lance’s knuckles affectionately. The dread monster in Lance’s stomach rolled in approval, and he realized when they passed the other Ryan that he couldn’t stop smiling.

    They were quiet as they ducked into the laundry room together. Keith gave Lance’s hand a squeeze before he let go, popping open the washing machine. Lance hovered close, marvelling at how warm Keith was in the tiny, cool laundry room; at the soft way Keith breathed as he shifted the laundry (Lance’s sheets) into the dryer. His heart was outright throbbing in his chest.

    Something was wrong, screamed the dread monster as he banged against Lance’s insides.

    The dryer beeped as it started its cycle and Keith turned away, caught Lance’s face between his hands, and kissed him hard, bruising. The throbbing worsened as his breath was stolen away and Lance felt himself sinking, again, his eyelids fluttering and his shoulders slumping. Safety, he thought. He gripped Keith’s hoodie, tugging him closer.

    “I love you,” Keith said against his lips.

    “I know,” Lance replied, and some of his confused desperation leaked into his voice. “You keep saying—“

    _Something was wrong_.

    The door opened, and maybe they pulled away a second later than would really be polite.

    Hunk stared between the two of them. “Seriously, guys?”

    Lance wiped his mouth. Keith cleared his throat.

    Hunk shook his head. “Geez. Where have you been all day? I borrow your hamster for _one day_ and you vanish.” He sauntered into the already crowded room and tossed his own makeshift hamper onto the humming dryer. “Keith, my buddy, my dude, you’ve got to read over my paper.”

    “Sure,” Keith croaked. “Happy to.”

    Hunk eyed them. “You’re not going to, are you?”

    Keith grimaced. Lance felt a laugh bubbling up in his throat. “Maybe not today,” Keith admitted.

    Lance wondered if Hunk could see it on them, if he looked at Lance and knew he had been cradled between Keith and his bed. His face grew warm.

    “Ugh,” Hunk said and waved a dismissive hand at them. “Off you go, you disgusting love birds. _God_. I’m telling Red.”

    Keith grabbed Lance’s hand and they ducked out of the room together, Lance trying and failing to muffle his embarrassed giggles while the dread monster cursed Hunk.

 

***

   

    Nothing happened, when they got back to their room.

    Well, Keith took off his sweater. They crawled back onto the bed. Lance tried to focus on the practice exam he had downloaded in preparation for his calculus final in two— _two_ —weeks. Keith had stared at his book, not reading.

    They sat shoulder to shoulder. Lance kept forgetting to breathe. Nico was yelling on the other side of the wall. Hockey? Was that still happening?

    Lance knew he should go to his desk, just scoop up his computer and get some actual work done. There was no Keith at his desk, no distracting memory of skin-on-skin and—the dread monster gagged—lovemaking. He glanced at Keith out of the corner of his eye. Keith was tapping his highlighter against his book.

    (“You’ve never read _Brave New World_?”

    “Keith, baby, strawberry shortcake, soda pop—“

    “Damn it, Lance.”

    “—you read enough for the both of us.”)

    Something was wrong, and very tense. Even the wind had stopped so the room felt stale and static.

    Abruptly, Keith closed his book. The snap startled Lance, making him jerk.

    “Sorry,” Keith muttered.

    “‘s fine.”

    Keith looked at him and _there it was again_. Lance’s lungs constricted. His heart pounded. He swallowed. Keith opened his mouth, closed it.

    _What_ , Lance wanted to shout; _what is it?_ Had he been weird? Had he done something wrong?

    Except, the dread monster reminded him with a grunt and a belch, he knew exactly what it was.

    “I’m going to go shower,” Keith said eventually and tossed aside his book. He shuffled off the bed.

    “Okay,” Lance said, feeling pathetic as he watched Keith go.

   

***

 

    Two weeks to his calculus final; seventeen days to his astro and bio finals; nineteen to his o-chem final; twenty-four days to his psych final; twenty-five days to the end of term and twenty-eight to Lance’s flight home and the end of his residence contract.

   

***

    (That morning, Lance had been considering braving the cafeteria for lunch when he came back from what would be his first shower of the day.

    “I was thinking,” he had said absently as Keith joined him on his bed and helped towel his hair dry (Keith liked this for some reason lost on Lance). “We should just apply for res next year now. Hunk’s sticking around. I bet the second-year floors are cleaner.”   

    Keith had pulled the towel from his head and Lance had grinned at him, flushed.

    “I’ll request you,” he had said cheerfully. “And you request me.”

    And that had been the first instance of the Look, and then Keith had stuck his tongue in Lance’s mouth and the whole day had disappeared.)

 

***

 

    Keith came back with ten minutes left on the laundry timer. Lance watched him putter around the room, watched as he put his wet hair into a bun, watched the downward curve of his mouth like all these were omens, or signs, or clues. His head spun. He had finished exactly 0 questions and his pad of paper had no signs of math but a lot of anxious scribbles all over it.

    Lance dug his pen into the paper.

    Keith didn’t look at him.

    Lance kind of wished he’d go back to telling Lance that he loved him, over and over. At least that kind of felt good. This—this was nauseating.

    “Are you hungry?” Lance asked to break the silence. He tried to sound cheerful but realized he came out more pissed off than anything.

    “Not really,” Keith said and joined him on the bed again without meeting his eye once. He picked up his highlighter and chewed at the end.

    “Keith,” Lance said. “What the fuck.”

    Keith dropped the highlighter. Finally, he looked at Lance, frowning. “What?”

    They stared at each other. “Nothing,” Lance mumbled and went back to scratching a hole into his notepad. He was exhausted. He wanted to lay down and snuggle close to Keith and breathe him in and just go back to sleep and pretend none of this was happening.

    “Are _you_ hungry?”

    “Nope.” _Scratch scratch scratch_. Lance imagined throwing his notepad across the room. He saw the dread monster tear its way out of his stomach. He saw himself, buried under Keith across the room just hours ago, and re-heard all his own breathy moans and smelt again the musky sex smell he was starting to associate with them and the slip and slide and stick of their skin.

    The timer went off. Keith stopped it and tossed his phone onto his pillow. When he looked back at Lance, Lance resolutely looked away.

    “Lance,” Keith started, and then stopped. He reached over and closed Lance’s laptop, pulling it from Lance’s thighs. “Come on.” He pried the pen from Lance’s grip and shoved the notepad away.

    Lance let Keith pull him to his feet and melted against him as they left, hand-in-hand and walking close enough that Lance was amazed they didn’t trip over each other.

    The second Ryan spotted them coming out of their room and paused midway through brushing his teeth. Lance ignored the way he stared.

    Keith let go of Lance when they reached the laundry room and shoved the clean bed sheets into the hamper, maybe with more force than was strictly necessary. Lance hovered by the door, his arms crossed and eyes darting around the room. He backed into the door and huffed.

    Keith slammed the dryer door shut and then stood, perfectly still and facing away from Lance.

    “Are you going to break up with me?” Lance blurted, his fingers digging into his arms.

    Keith whipped around and stared.

    Lance flushed. “Well, maybe not today, maybe not after we, you know, spent the day in...bed…” He trailed off, tripping over his words. Keith continued to stare. “But, I guess. Later?”

    “Lance,” Keith said, and he sounded dismayed and wrecked enough that guilt stirred in Lance’s belly, startling the dread monster. “I’ve been telling you that I love you all day.”

    Lance shifted. “Well,” he said flatly. “Sometimes people break up with people they love.”

    “Do they?” Keith replied, just as flat.

    “Yeah.” Lance sniffed, glaring at his feet. His jaw was sore from him grinding his teeth together. “We’re young. And...stuff. Maybe—maybe you’ve figured out you don’t want a relationship. Maybe, even if you love me, you want to just split up at the end of the year and we’ll go our separate ways and that will be that.”

    “Lance—“

    “And!” Lance barrelled on, hearing himself grow louder, like he could say it all and say it loud before Keith did and that would be that. “If today showed anything it’s that things are just really intense! And you don’t want that.” He paused, considering. “It’s too much.”

    He heard Keith take in a long, shuddering breath. “I don’t want that, or _you_ don’t want that?”

    He lifted his head to meet Keith’s glare with one of his own. “Don’t put this on me, Keith.”

    “Don’t put this on _me_.”

    Lance shook his head, turned on his heel, and left.

    This didn’t do much.

    Keith showed up in their room a minute after Lance threw himself onto his bare bed, pressing his face into the mattress. He didn’t lift his head and hoped—just hoped—that that was that.

    He felt Keith’s hand on his back and rolled away, pressing his forehead to the wall and squeezing his eyes shut.

    “Lance,” Keith said. “Come on.”

    Lance didn’t reply.

    Keith sighed. He shifted and pressed against Lance’s back, his arm slung over Lance’s waist. They stayed like that for a while, Keith’s breath against the back of his neck on his bare mattress.

    “I’m not breaking up with you,” Keith said.

    Lance let out a breath. He set his hand flat against the wall, just to feel it, and opened his eyes.

    “I mean it,” Keith continued. He pressed a kiss to the back of Lance’s neck. “I’m not breaking up with you.”

    The dread monster told Lance not to cry.

    He rolled over. Keith’s arm tightened around him, pulling him closer.

    “Then what?” Lance’s mouth was dry. He licked his lips. He reached into the space between them and tangled his fingers in Keith’s shirt.

    And there was the look again.

    Lance wanted to scream.

    “Let’s move in together,” Keith said then, and Lance almost did scream.

    “What?” he choked out. “We already—“

    “I know,” Keith grumbled. “But I mean properly. Like, find an apartment and sign a lease and move in together.”

    Lance stared.

    Keith sighed. “It’s probably soon,” he muttered. “I get that. But I also think…” He trailed off and seemed to consider his next words. His arm tightened around Lance. “Look, our own apartment means our own space with walls that are probably thicker than paper.”

    “Probably,” Lance echoed.

    “Yeah. And our own kitchen. And our own bathroom. And a couch that nobody’s passed out on except maybe us.”

    Lance blinked. Keith grimaced.

    “And,” he continued. “Our own bedroom. With one bed.”

    “Oh,” Lance said.

    “It sounds crazy,” Keith muttered. “But I don’t think it actually _is_. I don’t want to live in res for another year, and you’ll go crazy if you keep having to share a bathroom with a floor of people who are just not as meticulous as you. And maybe we’ll have to get somewhere further from campus, but oh-freaking-well.”

    “Oh,” Lance said again.

    “And we could have a kitchen that we could actually use.” Keith paused. “Or that Hunk could actually use, I guess. But primarily, yeah, one bed in one bedroom. A bed that could actually fit two people without one of us squished against the wall.”

    “That sounds nice.”

    Keith blinked. “Yeah,” he admitted. He licked his lips. “I thought so, anyway.”

    Lance’s grip on Keith’s shirt loosened and he squeezed a hand between them to touch Keith’s chin thoughtfully. The dread monster rolled over and died. “You were nervous,” he realized.

    Keith grimaced and didn’t reply.

    Lance brushed a thumb over Keith’s bottom lip. “Sorry,” he muttered.

    Keith kissed the pad of his thumb. “I didn’t mean to make you think—“ He broke off.

    “Okay,” Lance whispered.

    Keith took a deep breath. “Do you want to move in together?”

    Lance smiled, finally.

 

***

 

    Hunk joined them on the nicest couch in Floor Seven’s lounge. He hugged one knee to his chest and considered Keith and Lance, tucked together on the other side. Lance was pressed to Keith’s side, frowning at his laptop screen with Keith’s arm around him.

    “Huh,” Hunk said, thoughtful, and they looked at him.

    “What?” Lance asked, squinting over the top of his laptop.

    “Nothing,” Hunk replied quickly. “You’re just not usually so—“ He frowned and tapped his chin. “Well, you know, affectionate.”

    “Yes we are,” Keith said without looking away from his book.

    “Okay,” Hunk said slowly. “Not in public.”

    “I guess,” Lance muttered and went back to glaring at his screen.

    “What’s up with you guys?” Hunk asked, leaning his chin on his knee.

    “We’re going to move in together,” Keith replied absently, shifting to turn a page. Lance straightened, and then a moment later they were back to being tucked together.

    Hunk digested this. “What?”

    “Big decisions mean big snuggles,” Lance said.

    “What?”

    “We’re going to let you use the kitchen,” Keith added.

    “You mean you’re going to get me to cook for you,” Hunk said. “Are you seriously moving in together?”

    “One bedroom, one bed,” Keith said, like that explained everything.

    And maybe it kind of did.

    “Right.” Hunk scrubbed a hand over his face.

 

***

 

    (Lucy, their residence advisor, hovered behind the couch with her hands on her hips, studying Keith and Lance. “Well,” she said eventually. “I’m glad you’re finally getting along.”

    “They’ve been dating for months,” Hunk muttered.)

 

***

 

    (Hunk, in retaliation for an entire day’s worth of neglect, changed their whiteboard to read “KLANCE” with tiny hearts all around it. He signed it “Love, Red.” Lance was outraged. Keith took twelve photos.)

   

 

**Author's Note:**

> i was reflecting on the first time it felt like my partner and i were really jiving in the physical sense and thinking about how young and uncertain i was and i wanted to write about what that can feel like, and what next steps can feel like.
> 
> there was originally another piece before this but I decided Red is actually a mighty and invincible hamster and ought not to be messed with. there will be on more in their first year about shiro, keith, and pidge, but we’re moving forward from here folks (but hopefully not leaving this an ending, though i think it works as a finale)
> 
> as always, lmk what you think. the song that ruined me and basically birthed the emotional tone of this fic is apocalypse by cigarettes after sex and i beg you to listen to it.


End file.
